


still

by knox_moreau



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil, Another song fic, M/M, bc i love doing song fic, it's not really fluff, it's vaguely angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:50:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knox_moreau/pseuds/knox_moreau
Summary: Inspired by the song Still by Daughter.





	

_Two feet standing on a principle_

Andrew Minyard was both stable and unstable, depending upon who you asked. To some, he was a rock in a sea. To others, he was sand through fingers. But to Andrew? Andrew wasn’t sure. He knew he stood still from mere spite. He stood from every horrible scar, from every pill washed down a throat, from every bruise, from every manic laugh, from every wicked grin. He had to keep going because the second option meant letting them win. “Them” was not a solid person, not even an object. “Them” was his demons. The second option was not an option at all to Andrew. 

There was only one person Andrew was aware of who found him stable: Neil Abram Josten.

_Two hands longing for each other’s warmth_

Andrew was unsure what exactly Neil was to him. Perhaps, Neil himself was stability to Andrew. Maybe that’s how they worked; they stabilized one another with the brush of fingertips on the back of hands, with the palm of a hand on the other’s neck, with the taste of the other’s lips on their own. They were lingering eyes. They were hands finding the heat, the comfort of the partnering hand. They were the smell of smoke as the finished cigarette was put out and dropped on a rooftop. 

_Cold smoke seeping out of colder throats_

Or perhaps, Neil had many of the same effects that smoking had for Andrew. Neil had become a habit for Andrew, one he hadn’t intended to make. But now he had it, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Andrew was never sure how he felt about Neil, only that he voiced it as hate. Neil was the sensation of smoke down a throat into deteriorating lungs, lungs that still heaved on the principle of living. 

Neil was calm, Neil was hate. Mostly, Neil Abram Josten was Andrew Minyard’s stability.


End file.
